


Mirage

by MockingJayFlyingFree



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Catching Fire, F/M, PTSD, Slight Canon Divergence, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 01:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3672621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MockingJayFlyingFree/pseuds/MockingJayFlyingFree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Training Center, shortly before the Quarter Quell, Katniss and Peeta know they only have a few days left to live. To escape the nightmares, they seek comfort in each other’s arms every night. But sleeping next to the girl you love can be difficult when you’re a 17-year-old boy.</p>
<p>Catching Fire – slight canon divergence. Peeta POV.</p>
<p>Written for Prompts in Panem, round 7, day 5 - "Tongues".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirage

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set in Catching Fire, in the days before the Quarter Quell. It’s more or less canon compliant, but with a small, but important difference – Katniss and Peeta share a bed throughout their whole stay at the Training Center, not just the last few nights. 
> 
> Thank you to NotAnIslander and ForestFairy for helping me come up with the original idea, which I mixed with the Prompts in Panem prompt. This is what I ended up with.
> 
> Thank you to Lbug84 for betaing and Chelzie for prereading!

I’ve never seen anything sexier than Katniss Everdeen shooting an arrow.

Nothing even comes even close. Not the time Delly Cartwright let me slide my hands under her shirt at the slag heap. Not the time my brothers and I swiped a Capitol centerfold magazine from one of the Peacekeepers. Not even the NC-17 movies they play late at night here hold a candle to her.

Her training clothes are form-fitting and show off her curves in just the right way. Her hair is pulled back into a braid and she’s not wearing any make-up. Her face shows her complete concentration, her steel gray eyes narrowed. She takes down the Capitol simulations, one by one, faster than I’d thought possible. She moves with an effortless and deadly grace.

All of the victors – well, at least the ones who bothered to get out of bed before noon – are watching her from behind the glass. Katniss doesn’t notice. She’s oblivious, as usual.

“What the actual fuck?” Gloss mutters, and looks at his sister, Cashmere. Something passes between them, though I don’t quite know what. Worry? Admiration?

“Extraordinary,” Beetee says. “It is almost physically impossible.”

Katniss whirls around, and I admire the curve of her spine and the bounce of her breasts as she moves.

“ _Almost_ ,” Wiress emphasizes with a quiet chuckle, and he laughs, too. It’s as if they have an inside joke that no one else gets.

Mags, who Katniss seems to have bonded with during training for some reason, doesn’t say anything, but she smiles and nods excitedly. Mags is a sweet old lady. Unfortunately, she’s going to die, and I can’t – I simply _can’t_ – become friends with her. It will make it even worse when the cannon goes off, so I stay away.

Katniss defeats another simulation, one that tries to ambush her from behind. I wonder how she does it. How did she even know that it was there?

_Fuck_. I shift my stance, trying to hide the fact that I’m growing hard.

“Well, well, well,” Finnick says to Johanna and whistles.

“A 12?” she asks him.

“Yep.”

“She _does_ have a much larger range with that bow than you do with the trident, Finnick.” Johanna snorts. “A trident is a fucking stupid weapon anyway. You’re going to need Little Miss Star-Crossed Lover as an ally,” she smirks, nodding in Katniss’s direction. “Winning the Hunger Games because you're hot while using an ancient show-off weapon is only going to work once.” Finnick laughs, and something about them tells me that she’s told that joke before, and he’s okay with it.

I’m certain we’re going to field requests from the others about forming an alliance in the arena after this display. In a few days, without an alliance, they will be her next targets.

I’m the only one who will be safe from Katniss’s arrows in the arena. Maybe that’s the reason why I’m more concerned with trying to conceal my condition as best as I can. They’re all looking at her anyway. Except Johanna. She eyes me up and down and smirks.

Katniss lands in a crouch, having shot every single one of the simulations. She takes a few deep breaths, unaware of her audience. Wiress alerts her, clapping excitedly, and jolting her into movement. Katniss pushes herself to stand and reaches for her water bottle in the corner of the room, gulping down several mouthfuls with her eyes closed. She’s holding her bow in her other hand, and again I take in the curve of her spine and the flare of her hips… Do I see hints of her nipples through the thin fabric?

I need to take care of this… situation. Right now. Before Katniss joins us. I really can’t meet her in this state.

I mutter something about having to go to the bathroom, and make my escape while the others are still busy watching Katniss. To my horror though, Johanna follows me. 

“Need a hand?” She glances down at my crotch, and licks her lips.

I blush furiously, remembering what her body looked like in the elevator the other day, and I can tell by the look in her eyes that she knows exactly what I’m thinking about. I desperately try to come up with an answer, _any_ answer really, but my tongue does not seem to cooperate.

She laughs. “Don’t worry, baker boy,” she says. We have stopped outside the twin doors to the restrooms, and she tilts her head and smiles wickedly at me. “I wouldn’t risk it. Katniss would probably kill us both.” She leans in closer. She smells faintly of… pine. “But if you want someone else to fantasize about when you jerk off for a change, then feel free to think about me. Or perhaps you’d prefer to fantasize about Katniss _and_ me?”

She winks and disappears into the ladies’ room while I just stand there, gaping like a fish on land. Mortified, I escape into the men’s room and find a stall.

It’s stupid. I know Katniss wouldn’t actually _kill_ us if Johanna... Katniss doesn’t care. Not really.

I pull down my shorts and empty my head of all thoughts of Johanna. I most definitely do not think of Johanna and Katniss _together_. I focus on Katniss shooting instead.

I come in less than a minute.

 

* * *

 

As I suspected, more than half of the districts have requested to team up with us in the arena. Mentoring a popular victor is not something Haymitch is used to, and he downs almost an entire bottle of dark liquor in an attempt to deal with the stress.

And Katniss is… Katniss. She wants Beetee and Wiress. And Mags! Sometimes I really do wonder what is wrong with her. Beetee is smart, yes. So smart that I bet he’d find an ingenious way of stabbing us in the back the second he doesn’t need us anymore. Definitely not someone you’d want for your partner. And with him comes Wiress, who’s clearly not stable, which could potentially make her even more dangerous. And Mags… I don’t even know where to begin.

No. No. _No_.

But seeing the stubborn look in Katniss’s eyes, I know there’s no point in discussing this with her tonight.

When it’s time to go to bed, Katniss and I share a look. Haymitch appears to have passed out, but Effie notices. “I know you are engaged now, but it is still not proper,” she huffs. “I wish you wouldn’t do this. I have a _duty_ to your mother, Katniss. What am I going to tell her the next time I see her?”

Katniss rolls her eyes. “The next time you see her, you’ll most likely be presenting her with a casket containing my remains. I bet the fact that her daughter was sharing a bed with a boy before she was killed in the arena won’t be her main concern.”

“Katniss!” Effie shrieks. I sigh. I wish Katniss wouldn’t do this to Effie. The situation is hard on Effie too, and she’s on edge, making her even more overprotective and annoying than usual.

Katniss too must have realized that she’s gone too far, because she looks guiltily at Effie and touches her shoulder briefly as if to comfort her. “All we do is sleep, Effie,” she assures her, her voice softer now. “And I really don’t think my mother cares what I do, anyway.”

“Every mother cares, Katniss. Two teenagers sharing a bed every night?” She shakes her head. “Not proper,” she repeats insistently.

“Funny that Capitolites care so much about being proper, what with all the porn the Capitol churns out,” Haymitch unexpectedly guffaws from the couch. I guess he hasn’t completely passed out after all. Predictably, Effie starts scolding him. Katniss and I take the opportunity to sneak out of the room. We get a variation of this lecture almost every night, and we know that Effie can go on forever if given the opportunity.

“Your room or mine?” she asks.

“Yours.” I prefer the view from her room - and the fact that she doesn't share a wall with Haymitch like I do. Also, I left some clothes in her closet a few days ago, so we can sleep a little later.

She sighs in relief when the door closes behind us. “Alone at last.” She rubs her forehead, her shoulders slumping down. “I hate the training. I wish they’d just leave us in peace these last few days.”

The sentence is clearly missing a few words in the end that are left unsaid: These last few days that we are alive.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself in the simulation room today. That was quite a show.”

She looks up at me. “I didn’t even know that you’d seen me. You weren’t there afterwards.”

I really, really hope I’m not blushing. “No, I saw you. But then I had a tactics discussion with Johanna, so I missed the end.”

I guess that’s not a lie. Sort of.

“With _Johanna_?” Katniss huffs, and narrows her eyes.

“Katniss…”

She shakes her head. “Look, I really don’t want to discuss alliances and tactics right now. I wasn’t trying to put on a show,” she says, her voice defensive. “I just got lost in what I was doing, I guess.”

She swallows and looks down. In a few days, she’s going to be aiming at humans, not squirrels or Capitol simulations. And she dreads it. I can see in her eyes that she does.

“I’ll go take a shower,” she says as she turns away from me. Avoidance is her survival mechanism. She doesn't want to talk about what’s to come. She wants to pretend it’s not real.

While she finds her nightclothes, I quickly brush my teeth, and then the bathroom is all hers. I change into a pair of white shorts and my favorite t-shirt from home and get under the sheets, waiting for her.

I shut my eyes, listening to the sound of the falling water. And then, just barely audible over the water, I hear a slight moan.

I don't know if she's touching herself or tending to sore muscles. But my imagination prefers the former, and suddenly jerking off this morning _and_ this afternoon is not enough. I switch on the TV and watch the Capitol news, both to drown out the sound of her voice and to distract myself from the thought of warm water falling over Katniss’s naked body. It helps. Katniss emerges from the steamy bathroom and joins me on the bed about ten minutes later. I’m thankfully presentable. She’s wearing a cream silk nightgown, which is short enough to show off her legs, but long enough to be decent. Her hair is loose, her skin is flushed from the shower. She’s holding a glass of water in her hand.

“I found a setting that almost doesn’t smell like anything,” she smiles triumphantly. Two days ago, she ended up smelling like a flower shop. She was so annoyed and embarrassed, and I couldn’t stop laughing.

That night, I dreamt that I made love to her in the Meadow.

“Good.” I switch off the TV. “Surely you must be rehydrated by now,” I tell her, gesturing towards the glass of water.

“I guess.” She bites her lip. I can tell something is bothering her. “That’s what worries me most about the arena,” she finally confesses.

“What?”

“Dehydration. Thirst.” She slips under the sheet next to me. Her eyes are fixed on the glass in her hand. “I almost died of thirst in the arena last time. And Haymitch, that asshole, didn’t send me any water.”

Katniss is right to be afraid. The Gamemakers know all too well that dehydration is one of the best ways of driving tributes together, which makes for great television. Chances are they’ll do it in the Quarter Quell as well.

“That’s what I dreamt about last night.” She woke up screaming at around 3 in the morning, and it took me almost an hour to calm her down enough so we could go back to sleep. Her voice is hollow as she continues. “My tongue was as dry as sandpaper, and I tried desperately to reach a pool of water. But every time I was about to reach it, it receded.”

My fingers intertwine with hers. “I read once that people who are lost in the desert experience the same thing,” I tell her. “Only they are awake. They see things that aren’t there. A lake, usually. And they’ll walk, or run, if they are still able, in the direction of a lake that just isn’t there. They call it a mirage.”

“What a terrible way to die,” she whispers. “Thinking that the one thing you desperately want is within your reach, only to find that it’s not real.”

“Yeah.” I kiss the back of her hand and try not to feel the weight of her words. “It’s been a long day. Let’s get some sleep,” I tell her. “No nightmares tonight. I promise.”

We both know it’s a lie. I can’t promise her a night free of nightmares. All I can do is be there for her when she wakes up screaming. But still, she curls up under the blanket beside me.

“Goodnight,” she whispers even as her eyelids, with their long and dark lashes, flutter shut.

“Goodnight,” I whisper back, switching off the light. She falls asleep almost instantly.

 

* * *

 

I’m roused from sleep by small, strong hands as they travel over my chest. Teeth nibble lightly on my exposed throat, and I realize that Katniss was right. The shower setting she found hardly smells like anything at all. She smells sweet and fresh and like herself. 

Her gray eyes are on fire when she looks down at me. I’m lying on my back. Her knees are on either side of my hips as she hovers above me, her face just inches from mine. Her hair tickles my skin. “Peeta,” she croons, her voice dark and filled with desire.

I look down her body and steal a glimpse of her breasts through the neckline of her nightgown. I can see the hint of her dusky areolas. She follows my gaze and smiles. “You can look at me, if you want.”

I nod, my throat dry. She sits back and hesitates slightly before she quickly, in a fluid movement, pulls the nightgown above her head. She’s not wearing any underwear.

I’m naked, too. My cock, now fully erect, is burning against her ass and lower back, and she squirms slightly. With her sex pressed against me, I can feel how hot she is. She's wet too, practically dripping. The smell of her arousal is stronger now. I reach out my hand and touch her right breast, and it’s somehow soft and firm at the same time. I squeeze it slightly, and her eyes flutter shut. She whispers my name again as she moves her hips against me.

My dick is wet with her arousal, but this isn’t where I want her. Where I _need_ her. With my hands on her hips, I encourage her to move back, just a little bit, allowing me to feel her with the tip of my cock. Then I pull her close again and she slides her sex along my cock. She makes a low guttural sound in the back of her throat as my erection stimulates her clit.

“It feels so good, Peeta,” she whimpers. I nod furiously. She starts moving, just as gracefully as she did when she was shooting arrows. Up and down. Back and forth. I keep my cock steady with my hand and she provides us both with friction as she finds the right angle, the right speed. Her body is slender, yet strong. I’m leaking precum and our fluids mix, the scent of us filling the room. She writhes and pants, and when she speeds up, I realize that neither of us is going to last much longer.

I don’t want to come like this. Not now.

I grip her hips and roll us so she's beneath me. I settle between her thighs, feeling her heat; I lean forward and capture her mouth in a kiss. I use my left hand to hold myself up over her and my right hand trails down her body. Searching. Exploring. Preparing. My heart is pounding in my chest, and she whimpers into my mouth.

I tear my lips away from hers. “Does it feel good?” I ask as I wet my fingertips with her.

“Yes.” Her eyes are big and almost black, only a hint of silver surrounding her dilated pupils.

“I have to…”

“Do it,” she groans.

I look down at her, and she’s so beautiful. Her skin is flushed. Her black hair is spread out over the pillow. Her lips are swollen and slightly parted. “I love you,” I tell her, and she freezes. For a second I panic, fearing that I’ve gone too far.

Then her lips curl up in a smile. “I love you too, Peeta.”

I can’t wait any longer. I push one of her thighs up against her chest. I run my fingers along her folds, finding her clit, drawing circles around it. Her head falls back, allowing me a perfect view of her throat.

My cock is between her folds, and she feels so _good_. She’s so wet, and so willing.  I’ve never done this before and I feel like a fool, but where am I supposed to… I start to sweat, searching more desperately now, but all the head of my cock finds is wetness and softness. With all the porn magazines my brothers showed me, the human anatomy we had at school… And still… My mouth is dry as I realize that I just… can’t…

Gasping, I drag myself out of the place where dreams and reality meet. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I have to force myself to breathe more or less normally. Katniss lies very close to me, much closer than she did when we fell asleep. I know it already before I open my eyes, because I can feel her warm breath against my chin.

I open my eyes. Her mouth is so close to mine. Her full lips are slightly parted, and I know they are so soft and warm. It would be so easy to kiss her; all I would have to do is lean forward slightly, but we never do. Not unless there’s a camera. I try to control my body, to fight the images from my dream, still all too vivid.

I should’ve known when she said she loved me. Katniss wouldn’t say that, because she doesn’t. I should’ve pulled myself out of the dream sooner.

But my cock does not seem to know the difference between real and not real. I’m so hard it’s fucking painful, and to my horror, my hard-on is pressed against her hip. Katniss sighs, murmuring something in her sleep, and her tongue flicks out to wet her lips. Something that could be a moan escapes from her throat, and she shifts her hips, settling my erection even closer to...

For one crazy second, I think that Katniss might be awake. But if she was, I know she’d be mortified, maybe even angry with me.

I lie perfectly still for a while, hating myself for not being able to tear myself away from her. This is wrong on so many levels.

I finally find the strength to sneak out of bed, careful not to wake her, and go to the bathroom. I blink against the harsh light. I avoid looking at myself in the mirror.

I jerk off almost desperately and come quickly, remembering how her body felt against mine. I rest my forehead against the wall for a few seconds afterwards, catching my breath. After years of longing and sexual frustration, I’m sharing a bed with her. I’m touching her, but not _really_ touching her. Not the way I want to. Wanting to fuck Katniss Everdeen is obviously not something new; I’ve had wet dreams about her since I was 11, but seeing her shoot earlier today was apparently enough to unhinge me completely.

I clean up and then sit on the closed toilet lid for a few minutes to gather my composure. I know I’m playing with fire, sharing a bed with her every night. With all the dreams and fantasies I’m having about her, I shouldn’t - mainly to protect myself from even more heartbreak, really. But sleeping in the same bed is the only way for both of us to get any real sleep. What choice do I have?

I take a few deep breaths, forcing myself to calm down before I sneak back into the bedroom.

“Are you okay?” Katniss asks in the darkness as I settle down next to her.

Shit. I was quiet when I came, wasn’t I? 

I clear my throat. “Um, yeah. I just woke up and needed… some water. That’s all.”

“Good.” She curls up behind me, the way I know she likes the most when she wakes up at night. Her knees fit behind mine, her arm is around my waist, and her entire body is pressed against mine.

“Did you have a nightmare?” I ask her. I didn’t hear her screaming, but you never know.

“No. I just… woke up, too.”

“Mmhmm.” I yawn. I’m feeling the effects of my orgasm. My body is sated and heavy. “We should get some more rest,” I whisper. “Try to sleep.”

She nods against my back. But she doesn’t fall asleep. She lies very still, and I can hear her try to control her breathing to appear as if she’s asleep, but I know she’s not. Her body is too tense. And because I sense that something is bothering her, I can’t fall asleep either, despite how tired I was just a few minutes ago.

After a long while of both of us pretending to be asleep, it’s apparent it’s not going to happen.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her. “Are you still thinking about that nightmare you had?”

"No.” Her grip around my waist loosens slightly, and I’m afraid that she’s going to push me away. Again. That’s another of her survival techniques. “I know,” she finally whispers, barely audible.

“About what?”

“About your dreams.” I furrow my brow. Of course she does. I told her about my nightmares of losing her. “Not your nightmares,” she clarifies. “Your _dreams_.”

Oh.

“You talk in your sleep sometimes,” she says, answering the question I can’t bring myself to ask. I can’t think of a single thing in the world I could say that would make this better. So I don’t say anything. She continues, haltingly. “And I, uh… felt you… your… before you went to the bathroom. I’ve felt it before, of course, in the morning sometimes, but…” Her voice trails off.

“I’m sorry,” I finally manage to say. “I thought you were asleep.”

Ugh. That makes it sound even worse. Like I’m a creep who takes advantage of sleeping women.

“I’ll go back to my own room,” I mutter and start to get out of bed, but her strong hand around my waist stops me.

“No. Stay.” Her voice trembles slightly. “It’s okay, Peeta.” I feel her warm breath through the t-shirt.

I grit my teeth. “I never meant to make you feel uncomfortable,” I assure her.

There’s a long silence behind my back. “You’re not,” she whispers. I freeze. “I mean, I’m not… I don’t know what I’m feeling, exactly. But I’m not _uncomfortable_.”

I turn around. It’s just starting to get light outside, and I can see her features faintly. She widens her eyes in surprise, but doesn’t move away from me.

What did she just say?

“So you…” My throat is dry, and I have to clear it before I can continue. “…feel something?” In the light of day I probably wouldn’t dare to ask her that question. But now, in the twilight, I do.

She blinks, and her tongue flicks out to moisten her lips. I wait for her. Finally, she nods. “Yeah. I’m not… quite sure what. I…” She shakes her head in frustration.

Then, to my surprise, she takes my hand, and guides it to her chest. For a split second, I think she’s going to let me touch her breast, like in the dream. But then she places my palm just above it, and I understand.

“Feel that?” she asks. I nod. Her heart is pounding inside her chest. Her skin is scorching hot against my palm. I’ve never touched her like this before. Her thumb brushes lightly over the back of my hand, over and over again.  “I wish you weren’t stuck with me, Peeta. You deserve someone who knows what she wants.”

Not Gale again. Not now.

I don’t say it out loud, but she must understand. “Not _who_ I want,” she insists. “ _What_.”

“What does that even mean?” I blurt out.

Her heart rate quickens a little bit more under my fingers.

“I’m not really sure,” she confesses. “There are so many feelings I can’t quite make sense of, and I wish I had more time to figure it out.”

I see the tear run down her cheek, and I wipe it away. My fingers dig into her wild, black hair. We’re lying side by side. Her face is so close to mine, her knee is draped over my hip. She is the one who initiates the kiss – here, when we are alone, in between night and day. Her body melts against mine, and we’ve never been closer than this.

When I release her lips, we are both breathing heavily. I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, kissing her forehead lightly. Her chest is heaving against mine. Her body tells me more than her words can convey. She buries her face against my neck and we hold each other close. I feel her warm breath against my skin.

I don’t know what it all means, but I know we’ll be together until the end. It’s not enough, but at least it’s something.


End file.
